Say Goodbye to the Old Ways
by lillypilly11
Summary: After 'The Last Dam Job' there is time to regroup, reflect, and move on.
1. Present

_A/N: __So I started writing this right after seeing the season finale, only just getting around to finishing it though, lol. This is a 'what happens next' basically, for the end of season four. Follows straight on from 'The Last Dam Job'. _

_SPOILERS obviously_!

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><p><strong>Say Goodbye to the Old Ways<strong>

**...  
><strong>

"Can't believe you got yourself shot again," Sophie muttered as she worked, removing the make-shift pressure bandage they'd applied to Nate's shoulder earlier, and replacing it with a clean dressing.

They were back at the so-called Bat Cave for now, just to collect themselves and pack up their things. Not that any of them knew where they were headed next - except perhaps for Nate, with his professed 'big plans'.

"_Again_," she stressed as she reached for the tape.

"Just grazed me," Nate said.

She applied just a tad more pressure to his shoulder.

"Flesh wound," he amended with a wince, and flapped her hands away and took over taping down the dressing himself, rather ineptly. Finished, he pulled his shirt gingerly back up over his shoulder, then shifted round so his side was pressed against hers on the over-turned crate they were currently sitting on. Side-by-side, they watched the activity as the others moved around the cavernous room.

Eventually, Nate waved a hand vaguely. "Anyway, aren't women supposed to... you know, scars on a guy are sexy, and all that, right?"

She snorted. "If all I wanted was scars - and sexy - I'd be sleeping with Eliot."

He blinked, and then turned to frown at her. "_Eliot_. Really. Eliot's sexy now?"

The hitter in question happened to be near enough at that moment to overhear the exchange, and contributed, "Hey, I been in more wars than I can count, an' I've only been shot twice." Eliot paused. "Twice that counted."

Sophie nodded, glad to be supported on this. "Right? I'm saying, it's like he walks around with a target painted on his chest."

Nate had stopped glaring at her and was now glaring at Eliot. Clearly he wouldn't be forgetting the 'sexy' comment any time soon. Sophie had to take his chin and draw his face back around to focus on her.

"Don't start," she said. "You can't even get a little job done without being riddled with bullets."

Of course what had happened today was so much more than that. It just seemed to be what he needed right now, keeping things light, so she focused on what didn't matter, teased and bantered and didn't push.

His response was equally flippant. "Hey, if there's a trend forming here, who started it? You know, I never got shot before I met you."

"Ugh, that was years ago." She poked his chest. "You can't live in the past, Nate."

He caught her hand and held it against his chest. "I don't intend to." He was smiling as he pulled her into a kiss - he kept doing that. She did not mind at all.

Except after a moment there were voices talking in the background, difficult to ignore.

"Oh, look, they're kissing again. Is this what they do now?"

"Shut up, Parker," Eliot rumbled.

"I mean do they _want_ us to watch? What?"

With a disgruntled sound Nate pulled away from her, turning to glare. "Yeah, that's what I want, you three standing there gawking while we are having a private moment here. Come on."

"'Kay, no need to get snippy," Hardison said. "This is a public space, y'all PDA-ing all over the Bat Cave, I'm just saying."

"Go load up the van," Nate said.

"Snippy," Hardison said as they turned away.

"Man gets cranky when he's shot," Eliot said.

"I don't mind watching, it's like when people kiss in a movie," Parker could be heard saying as she trailed after the other two. "Only you can't just check the rating to see if it's going to get dirty or not."

Nate looked at Sophie, disturbed.

"I'll talk to her," she said quickly.

"Yeah."

He squeezed her hand and smiled at her once they were alone.

She smiled back and decided just a little prodding couldn't hurt. "So is this what we do now? Those big plans you mentioned - I'm assuming they involve more than just, you know," she leaned forward and pressed her lips briefly to his once more, "_That_. Not that it's a bad one, as plans go."

He chuckled a little, and replied, "Actually, there's a lot more of _that_ in the plans. It's a good plan."

"Good plan."

His expression sobered after a moment, and his hand pulled away from hers to rub tiredly over his face. "First I - I have to go back to the bar. One last time." He sighed. "I have to bury my father."


	2. Past

_A/N: Kind of speed-posting this, apologies for any errors!_

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><p>There was no casket, of course; no body to go in it. There was just a small, private gathering in the cemetery where Nate's mother had been buried, with a modest headstone and Nate's old friend Father Paul performing the service.<p>

It was later, at McRory's Bar, that Jimmy Ford had his real final send-off.

The wake was in full swing, with felons and law enforcement and clergy rubbing elbows paying testament to the life Nate's father had led.

Nate seemed to be coping well - according to Sophie, who kept an eye on his movements as he paid his dues, talking to people and thanking them for coming. It was an effort for him, all of this, but she suspected that, for Nate, the point was he was _making_ the effort.

Sophie had spent most of her time so far with Parker, who didn't always do well with things like death and grieving, raising the potential for inappropriate comments and questions at awkward moments. Sometimes Sophie forgot how far Parker had come since she'd first met her; the young woman was mostly just worried whether Nate was all right.

"Last time we did this waking thing, we pulled off the Wire con in like twenty minutes. It was really fun," Parker was saying.

Sophie remembered hearing about that particular job after the fact, first from Tara, who'd been bragging about it, then from Eliot, who'd called to tell her that Nate had started drinking again.

Parker continued, "Do you think we should find some mob guys to scam? Nate would enjoy that."

"Um, maybe not, Parker."

"Ooh! What if we invite Sterling over, and Eliot can beat him up? Nate _loves_ that!"

"Bit impractical, Sterling's in Europe."

Parker deflated, slumping in her seat. Her face twisted in thought. "Well what about, like, a hug. Does Nate need a hug? People like hugs when they're sad, right?"

Sophie opened her mouth to shoot down this idea, too, but then said, "Yes, they do. You should go try it."

Nate was in the process of crossing the room when he was stopped in his tracks by the full force of Parker throwing her arms around him and squeezing. Nate, extremely alarmed by this, and never one to be comfortable with casual affection, looked horrified down at the young woman clinging to him, before patting her awkwardly on the head and gingerly pushing her away. A Sophie watched, Parker said something to him - she could only imagine what - and then skipped away, at which point Nate looked up and caught her observing. He raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, "Really?"

She gave him her best innocent face and shrugged.

He rolled his eyes and changed direction, heading over to the bar and taking a seat on one of the stools.

Sophie rose from her seat at one of the tables and moved to join him.

"That was your doing, I take it," he said, as she slid onto the empty stool beside him.

"It was her idea, she wanted to help you feel better. I just... enjoyed it."

"Hmm."

Without prompting, Cora appeared and slid a glass in front of Sophie, pouring from the bottle sitting by Nate's elbow. She thanked the young woman, who just smiled and went to attend to something else down the other end of the bar.

Sophie watched Nate twist his glass back and forth between his hands. She had been observing Nate's habit for too many years now not to have noticed how he'd been nursing the few drinks he'd had tonight.

"If ever there was a night for it," Sophie said, lifting her glass for a sip.

"Tonight, if I get going I might not stop, so..." He shrugged. "I don't want to get slammed at my father's wake. Tacky."

"You're Irish, that's not tacky, that's expected."

He didn't respond, playing with the glass some more. He was thinking too much to take the same alcohol-fuelled, misty-eyed trip down memory lane more than a few of the other guests were currently taking.

She waited him out, knowing he would talk when he wanted to - and then only _if_ he wanted to. Getting an unwilling Nate to share was a futile endeavour at the best of times. She'd certainly beat her head against that particular brick wall enough to know.

This Nate, pensive but not brooding, grieving but not bitter - the Nate she was seeing since he had turned his back on revenge days earlier - he wasn't so unwilling any more.

"I was just thinking," he began after they had sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes. "Thinking about fathers and sons. Sam would be a teenager now - a teenager, you know I can only ever see him as my little boy. And my dad, you know, he only saw Sam a few times when he was just a baby. Then Jimmy wound up in prison, and I didn't want to talk about him, so Sam never even knew about his grandfather. And my dad, my dad was behind bars and couldn't even attend his own grandson's funeral. Now they're both gone and there's just me, and I..."

She hooked her arm through his, leaning into his side. "You're not alone."

"That's just it, I - Jimmy and I, we had a lot in common."

"Yeah, the whole stubborn pride thing."

He gave her a look, but then the hint of a smile showed up, which had been her intention. "Right. Thank you. No, I meant, we uh, he and I, we spent a lot of time convinced we didn't need other people - no one, you know, close. That's why my mother kicked him out. That's why Maggie gave up on me." He sighed, and finally lifted his glass and slowly swallowed the amber liquid before continuing. "My own father never really knew me. He didn't know who I've become - he didn't know _you_. It's all..." He shrugged. "Sad. Lost chances."

"Those are the worst kind."

"Course, you know, my father was a real bastard, and he could have lived another thirty years and he still wouldn't have been able to see clear past his own ego enough to actually, you know, relate to me. So there's that."

"Fathers and sons," Sophie murmured.

"Yeah."

"You don't even want to know about my father." She said it in commiseration, no more than a joke, but after a brief pause he turned to her.

"Yes, I do."

"What? No, I just meant..."

"Yeah, I know." He grasped her hand with his. "I do want to know, though. I know you don't talk about your past, I know you have your reasons - you're so used to... to protecting yourself, and who you were, and you want to focus on who you are now. But listen, if you ever do want to tell me - _anything -_ then I want to hear it, okay?"

She didn't answer straight away, not having expected such a speech. He was a perceptive bastard when he wanted to be, even now.

Half a smile played at her lips as she thought about it; thought about telling Nate all the things she never thought she would tell anyone. "Well, maybe another time."

"Yeah."

"Tonight?" She lifted her glass. "Is about your father, who loved you, for all his flaws. To Jimmy."

He touched his glass to hers and they drank.

Sophie put down her empty glass and slid off the stool, touching Nate's shoulder in parting. "I'll see you later, all right?"

He caught her arm. "Where you going?"

"People want to talk to you - pay their respects."

"They can come." He held her wrist until she settled back beside him, and then his hand slid down to lace his fingers with hers; a wordless request for her to stay. "People around here are used to seeing me with you, you know."

"Oh, you'd better watch out, then. I think that makes us an item."

Nate just smiled and poured her another drink.

They didn't stay late; the wake was still going strong with a host of the old neighbourhood boys swapping stories when Nate made the rounds to say good night.

She met Eliot's eye on their way out, letting him know with a look that she was taking Nate home. He acknowledged the look with a tip of his chin from his watchful position over in the corner. She knew he intended to stay and help Cora keep an eye on things until the last stragglers departed.

Outside, she and Nate stood for a moment on the footpath, taking in the night air and the relative quiet after the steady drone of conversation inside.

"Where are you parked?" Nate said eventually, looking up and down the street.

"We should probably find a taxi. You complain about my driving at the best of times - I think I drank one too many toasts tonight."

"I like the way you drive. Fear, uncertainty, the possibility of sudden death - they really keep you on your toes."

She smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes as he laughed.

After a moment she became hesitant. "Listen, um, are you... coming home with me? Unless - I can drop you over at the hotel, if you want to be alone tonight."

Nate and Hardison had been settled in a nearby hotel for the past few days, having of course already cleared out of their previous address. Nate had spent the time focused on arranging the funeral and wake, and looking into his father's affairs - such that they were. Sophie and the others, meanwhile, had been making plans to move across the country.

They'd all been busy, and she knew Nate was tired.

But he answered her question with a simple, "No. No, I don't want to be alone."

"All right." She turned back to the street, keeping an eye out for a taxi.

"You know what? Come on, let's walk. It's a nice night."

She had no objection to that, willing to go along with whatever he wanted tonight. She let him take her arm, sliding her hand down to fit into his as they turned and set off.

As they walked along in no particular hurry, he talked about the neighbourhood, what he remembered from his youth, how things had changed. He was saying goodbye, she realised, to more than his father tonight.

"You okay?" he asked her at one point, squeezing her hand as they stood waiting for a crosswalk signal. "You're quiet."

She had been, mostly just listening to his stories. She smiled at him. "Yeah, I am, are you?"

He looked down and nodded. "Yeah - yes. I'm okay. I mean, I'll be okay. Thanks, though," he looked up at her, his gaze stead on hers. "For... you know. For being here with me."

The lights changed then allowing them to cross, and interrupting the moment - she was almost glad for it.

This new Nate, the one who had no trouble asking for support, who reached out to her unprompted, she didn't know quite how to feel about it. He'd been through a lot, and though he spoke of big plans and changes, when it came to people, change didn't come overnight. Or at all. And they'd spent so many months now - make that _years_ rather - carefully not defining their relationship.

But at the same time, she knew what she wanted, she always had. And she badly wanted to trust this new openness in him.

Because when he said he didn't want to be alone, it didn't sound like he just meant tonight.


	3. Future

_A/N: Mission to finish this fic before the new season starts and I get totally jossed: Success! With less then 48 hours to go, but whatever. :D Okay, here we go... I'm not going to lie to you people, it's about to get sappy up in here._

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><p>"Would you stop looking like that? Hey, you offered to help, practically insisted, and I <em>told<em>you -"

"Essentials! You said essentials."

"Well some things are easy to replace. Others..." Sophie looked around the room where, for the last two years, she had kept some of her most prized possessions. Most of them, thankfully, had survived the little incident with the bomb exploding in her apartment a few years back. Pity she couldn't say the same about the Munch hanging in her front hallway.

The point was, they were definitely essentials, and if she was going to up and move to Portland, there was no question of them coming with her.

"And this is why we're packing up fifteen crates of shoes?" Nate said.

"Irreplaceable! Look, see, those stilettos? Great sentimental value."

His response was a rude noise.

She shook her head and went back to packing, wrapping a pair of adorable yellow slingbacks in tissue paper and stowing them carefully in the nearest crate. She looked up to find him doing the same with the stilettos, only with a great deal _less_ care.

"And it's not fifteen," she said, continuing the conversation as if it had never paused. "You always exaggerate. It's, what, two boxes. Or six. Look, whatever, you know what your problem is?"

"What, what's my problem?"

She opened her mouth but hesitated.

"Hm? Can't think of it, huh? Guess all these shoes must be distracting for you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm trying to think of just one."

He huffed in amusement and tossed another shoebox carelessly on top of all the others, just to be extra annoying. "Have you even worn half of these?"

"That's not the point. You're such a hypocrite, you know."

"Ah, so that's my problem."

"You love my shoes, Nate."

"No, I love the way you wear your shoes."

"That's the same thing!"

"No, there's a subtle but distinct difference."

"You're just arguing for the sake of getting on my nerves."

"You say that like it's not working. Anyway, what are you going to do about it?"

He was in such a mood, with that quintessential Nathan Ford smirk on his face. And what was she going to do about it?

Idly she picked up a shoe from the nearby shelf; gleaming black patent leather smooth in her hand. She got to her feet. "You say that like a man who doesn't have a vested interest in making me happy."

He didn't have a snappy comeback as she made her way around the packing boxes over to where he was sprawled on the floor.

"Now, see, these. Surely you remember these ones." She gracefully lowered herself to her knees beside him in amongst the sea of footwear, and showed him the one item in particular in her hand. "I'm quite sure you remember them digging into your back that night... last month... that little place in Chinatown..."

He swallowed heavily before speaking. "Maybe you should put them back on and we can refresh my memory."

"Maybe," she smiled.

She definitely had his attention now, and he certainly wasn't arguing. In fact he didn't say another word before he was moving, his lips meeting hers heatedly. He leaned forward, lowering her to the floor, clearing a space with a sweep of his arm.

"I knew you liked my shoes," she murmured as his mouth travelled down her neck.

"Shoes? What shoes?" he returned, which made her laugh since they were only rolling around on the floor surrounded by the things, until he caught her up in another kiss, silencing her.

She was toying with his shirt buttons a few minutes later when she said, "Mm, you know we're never going to get to Portland at this rate."

He grabbed for a stray sandal lying forgotten beside them, and lobbed it into the nearest open box. "Progress. We'll get there soon enough."

She ducked his next kiss, shifting in his arms. "Yeah? Soon enough for what, though? You are going to have to tell us about these plans of yours eventually."

"You, I will tell anything you want to know."

She didn't reply, just wriggled some more. At some point a shoe box had wedged under her knee and it was getting uncomfortable.

He sat up then, pulling her up with him so she could arrange herself less awkwardly. They shared a smile, laughing a little - neither of them willing to admit that perhaps they were too old to be fooling around on the floor, but both of them thinking it.

A moment later, Nate's expression changed from amused to serious. He took her hand. "Speaking of plans, Sophie, I..."

"What?"

"You know I - I really - I just... want to make you happy."

"Oh, well that's nice."

"No, I'm serious, I -"

"Nate," she squeezed his hand. Where was he going with this? "I am happy. Are you?"

"Getting there. I just - I want to know, I want you to tell me... Wait, what's that look? What's wrong?"

She blinked, freezing up, afraid suddenly of what he might have caught in her features. "Nothing. I'm fine, I -"

"I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" he said, and now his expression had switched from sweet and sincere to shrewd and slightly chagrined.

"No! What? No, no... A little bit, yeah. Look, you keep expressing your feelings and being all... direct and honest about what you want and what you need - you have to admit, it's weird."

"You don't trust me," he concluded, hitting the nail right on the head while at the same time missing it completely.

Sometimes she could just kill him, to be honest. They should never have stopped the kissing just now.

"Well you know that isn't true," she said. "I know you have good intentions, Nate..."

"I just want to make this work, I want to give you everything you need to -"

She threw up her hands, making a frustrated noise. "All these years we've known each other and you're still completely missing the point. It doesn't matter that there aren't any guarantees - of course there aren't. I mean, you, Mr Control Freak, of course you want to say the magic words and conjure up this perfect ideal of a relationship but you just can't - look, I'll put it in words you'll understand: you can't take out an insurance policy on love. It's a game of chance. No one knows how it will turn out." She took his face in her hands suddenly as she continued. "And if you think I won't take that risk for you, then you are very, very stupid, Nate. And we both know you're not stupid."

He covered her hands with his, drawing them down from his face to clasp warmly between them. "Sometimes, around you, I really don't feel smart."

A smile stole over her face. "Of course not. That's probably why you like me so much."

"One of many reasons." He sighed. "'Words I'll understand'? Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, well I guess I can try not to be so... pushy. Uh, controlling."

She really couldn't help the laugh that escaped.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," he agreed. "But still, you know I want to - I mean we should be able to talk about, you know, about... us."

"Nate, are you saying you want to have a conversation about our relationship?"

"It's a big step for me, huh? Sorry, I don't want to 'freak you out' more."

"I'm only surprised you didn't hear the word 'relationship' and run for the hills. Talk about a new Nate."

"Come on, we both know that's what this is. And hey, I used to be married, you know, I do know how to do this. We just - you know, you tell me what you want, and I tell you what I want, and then we, you know, we work on it."

She pursed her lips, considering that. "So you want to have a sensible, logical discussion? About our feelings."

"What?" He spread his hands defensively.

She shook her head. "Poor Maggie."

"What? Don't -"

She waved a hand. "No it's fine, it's fine. I mean, this is what I was just talking about, with the trying to manage everything, but whatever. Baby steps. You have to start somewhere."

"And what about you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes you." He pointed an accusing finger, but his features were energised, apparently happy to turn the tables on her. "Stop worrying about me, and handling me with kid gloves. I'm figuring things out, and I'm going to be okay. You can trust me." He picked up her hand again. "You can trust this."

She didn't have a reply to that.

Worrying about Nate had been her default state for the past few weeks. The past few _years_ to be honest. And with that had come an ingrained habit of protecting herself where he was concerned.

And she knew she was right; that he couldn't approach their relationship the way he ran a con, with contingency on top of contingency, genius mastermind or no. But maybe he was right, too, and if he was willing and ready to make a leap, there was no reason not to join him. No reason but fear.

Maybe baby steps weren't the answer.

He let her think for a long moment. Finally when she looked up at him, smiling slowly, he smiled back and said, "Tell me what you want."

A flood of answers suddenly presented themselves to her. Oh, the many ways she could respond to that question. But then she knew.

"There's something I've been waiting to hear you say."

"Oh?"

"Mm, and I don't want to rush you, don't feel pressured or anything, but I really am just dying to hear it."

"Sophie -"

"Come on, just lay it out there."

"I..."

"Tell me - that you don't remember my name from that night in San Lorenzo."

His jaw dropped and he just stared at her for a few seconds. "I _knew_ you knew!"

"Yet you never brought it up. We could have just talked about it. Sensibly, logically..."

"Well we've spent a lot of time since then, you know, not talking."

"Haven't we just."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry. I blacked it out."

"I'm sorry I had to be drunk off my ass before I could tell you."

"Well you can tell me now, though," he pointed out eagerly.

"Oh, nuh-uh, no, it's still my turn. We're still doing what I want, here. I have a list."

"When did you make a list?"

"Just now. Don't interrupt."

It was not a short list. But then, she'd never claimed to be low-maintenance.

While they went back to packing up the room's contents, they talked - or Sophie talked, Nate listened with regular intervals for arguing.

_Respect the shoe collection_ was on the list. As was _bring me breakfast in bed whenever I want_.

There was an official agreement made that, should she ever encounter a spider, it was his job to deal with it.

She wanted him to be patient with her, about her past - the parts of it he didn't know, Sophie Devereaux before the name had even existed - because she wanted to tell him. She did. But she wasn't sure when or how or even if she would ever get the words out.

Also on the list: _You should feel free to get a bit jealous when I'm flirting with a mark, because it keeps things interesting, and a girl doesn't like to feel taken for granted. Just not too jealous, because then you're just being ridiculous, no matter how much younger or more attractive the man is than you._

At one point she found herself staring intently down at one of her favourite pairs of knee-high boots and saying, "I don't think I'll ever want to be a mother. Maybe if it happened by accident... I suppose I might keep it, but I don't... I just don't think I..."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

And hearing the simple acceptance in his voice, she started to breathe again.

Continuing honesty was on the list. Continuing openness. She didn't want to be shut out ever again.

She seriously wanted them - or more specifically, _him_ - to work on the bad habit of letting personal issues between them affect the job. He was fine with that, as long as she admitted she was as equally to blame for that as he was. She was pretty sure it was mostly him, and she wanted him to stop living in denial because it was hardly attractive. He wanted to strangle her, and said so. She wanted to throw a brown suede ankle boot at his head. And did so. Then they both wanted to settle things by rolling around on the floor kissing like teenagers again.

It was a long afternoon.

Eventually, though, they were finished - with both the packing and the talking - and they stood together surveying the products of their labour: empty shelves, several sealed boxes, and a greater sense of intimacy between them than months of sleeping together had managed to create.

There in the doorway Sophie turned to him and stepped close, slinging her arms around his neck. "Listen, you're not drunk right now, are you?"

He looked confused. "What? No... and you've been with me all day so you know that."

"Good," she said, "because I don't want you forgetting this."

And then she told him her name.

_fin._

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><p><em>And that's the end, thank you for reading!<em>


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